


Trying To Remember Your Name

by tourdefierce



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 01:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tourdefierce/pseuds/tourdefierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-movie, a look at getting back to normal through Leonard McCoy's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying To Remember Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ampers_and and luvscharlie for looking at this for me.
> 
> Originally posted to LJ: January 13th, 2010.

Laughter is only paired with exhausted relief and a bitter taste in the four days it takes the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ to make it home after its maiden voyage. Leonard McCoy spends most of his time either patching up new patients or reassessing old ones. In the dead of night, when sleep doesn't come because all anyone can think about are the beds that are empty and the fragmented pieces of metal floating in the depths of space mingling with countless bodies, McCoy takes to making room calls. There are plenty of crew members injured enough to require patching up, but too busy or too vital to operations to get away for anything more than sleep, that the Acting CMO has plenty to do.

In the quiet moments, when an Engineer falls asleep while McCoy is applying salve or regenerating a wound, McCoy can only think of his father. It's strange- not because McCoy doesn't think about his father, but because the memories are different. Usually they are plagued with reality; the finals days and the final decision. But during the quiet visits he pays to various exhausted-yet-living crewmembers, McCoy thinks about his father, thinks about the time spent accompanying him on minor house calls through the dusty roads that only a country doctor would travel in solace. He hasn't thought about those days in a long while, an old world stethoscope hooked to his ears, and his father's grin spreading across his face.

The days pass slowly and Leonard forgets what it's like to be in control. It slips through his fingers with every command and melts into the lines of devastated faces that dream of Vulcan sunsets, of shuttered windows, of familiar hands- of cool grass beneath booted feet.

<3<3<3

The days back dirt-side pass even more slowly for Leonard. The hospital is practically empty and the lack of nurses under foot and agitated doctors is noticeable, casting a permanent cloud over the sterile wings. The campus is much of the same and so the times Leonard does spend away from the hospital can't be spent wandering the grounds, because the same hallow feeling haunts the sidewalks and bare patches where heavy foot traffic prevented grass from growing not months before.

He's seen the loss of life. He's a doctor. But now- now he can feel it in his fingertips and see it in the cracked open faces of hollow personal. But the dead, they weren't his patients this time. At least, not many of them were. They are all like ghost patients to Leonard now, as if his hands are constantly pressing scalpels to faint imprints of bodies, trying to hold together other people's memories with hasty regenerators.

Leonard McCoy is a doctor but he can't bring himself to search for his patients.

There are meetings with admirals and there are messages from press in every different language the universe holds. But Leonard doesn't answer them. He doesn't go to the meetings either. But they don't expect him to be there anyway, the invitations were only polite. He's been adamant since the beginning- he's a doctor, not a politician and doesn't give a flying fuck where they post him. There are sick people everywhere. At least, it's what he tells himself.

It's late and his dorm room is dark but he can't bring himself to order on a light. He makes sure the alarm is on and the communication he recorded had been sent to Joanna, before he shucks his clothes and climbs into bed. He gives a passing thought to Jim, who's crazy busy with this, that and another thing. Jim, who Leonard hasn't seen for longer than three minutes since they docked.

"Jim," he sighs out into the air. It has been so long since he's said the name that it comes out like gravel. The name unnatural on his lips, as if his teeth and tongue have forgotten what Jim felt like.

<3<3<3

The morning is foggy and thick on the windows, as if it's trying to creep in by way of white, silky vines that fall right through resisting fingers. Leonard has always felt dissonance at the Academy when the fog rolls in. It's cold here. So unlike the heavy fog of Georgia that would cling hot and heavy in the early morning. Leonard remembers the sensation of sticky heat pooling in his lungs- not unlike drowning. The fog would always burn off before noon, the sun chasing it away from the green fields and damp morning soil.

Leonard finds San Francisco fog unsettling. He layers his clothing, the movements of his arms and legs seemingly of their own accord in the darkness of the room.

The dorms are quiet but he can't linger to think about rooms full of belongings that will never again be touched by their original owners. There are so few active medical personnel remaining that triple shifts have become mandatory for anyone with a legitimate medical license. Leonard is tired of watching what few medical cadets they have left wash out. Between survivor's guilt, grief and the long shifts at the hospital, he can understand why it's happening, but it doesn't mean he has to enjoy watching them scatter like surgical instruments clattering off medical trays.

He doesn't see anyone he knows on the way to the hospital. When he gets there the hallways are still deserted. He stops by the station to pick up his files for the day, a nurse hands him unreplicated coffee with a tilt of her head. He meets her eyes, sees his reflection there and nods in thanks.

Leonard is not sorry there is nothing to say.

There are a few unseasonal flu patients in the emergency room, with the stress and grief it's a wonder the whole campus hasn't caught it yet. Leonard gathers PADDs and goes to find something to do with his hands. The trauma ward hums as if energy just waits there to give doctors and nurses the magic they need to save lives. Leonard lurks around the cadets treating the flu patients. He makes as many comments as he can to give them something to learn, but they all stare blankly back at him anyway. he wants to summon the energy to admonish them, to remind them that this is a teaching hospital and that they don't have medical degrees yet.

He doesn't.

But he's pretty sure his grumpiness would have been preferred. The only sound in the ward is the gentle beeping of machines, and patients vomiting bile into bedpans. Doctor McCoy takes to wandering the halls, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his lab coat, like a boy feeling his the wrath of his father's disappointment. The powerlessness would be overwhelming if it wasn't already exhausting.

<3<3<3

At 1300 hours, a nurse stops and informs him that he's being requested by an incoming patient. Leonard hopes that it isn't a reporter's desperate way of getting to him or worse, a family member coming to ask him if he remembered their son or daughter. Leonard is not sure which is worse. But he hurries along anyway, the movement taking to the length of his white lab coat.

The privacy curtain is drawn when he arrives. Leonard takes a deep breath and pulls gloves on before he steps beyond the bland material.

"Hey Doc," Jim says softly. There is no smile in his voice but there's a soft lift of his lips and Leonard's breath stutters as he comes to a halt at the end of the biobed. It feels as if there is an invisible barrier between himself and Jim, so palpable Leonard twitches to touch the space between them.

"You don't look sick," Leonard says, but his voice falls flat. Jim looks good. The bruises on his face and neck are yellow and faded. His complexion has color again and Leonard knows, just by Jim's posture, that his broken ribs aren't even tender anymore after healing. His eyes look clear, too, which is usually Jim's only tell. The way those blue irises communicate is sometimes Leonard's only saving grace when it comes to gauging Jim's level of pain.

Jim shrugs in response, not meeting Leonard's clinically appraising eyes any longer. But Leonard continues to stare. It's so good to see Jim that he gives himself a few moments to just absorb the familiar sight of Jim's body in front of him. It feels nice not to be rushed. It feels nice to wait Jim out. He will talk when he's ready. Usually, Leonard is too damn busy to take the slow road with Jim, but given the state of the hospital, Leonard is willing to spend some time staring at Jim, alive and well in front of him.

Finally, Jim nods and pats the biobed, indicating that Leonard should sit. The doctor almost laughs— only Jim Kirk would feel confident enough to invite Leonard into his own damn hospital. But Leonard neither laughs nor fights. He takes the offered seat next to Jim, their thighs pressing together, and for the first time in days, Leonard feels warm. He sets his hands on his thighs and watches Jim watch his hands. Their breathing regulates together and it makes Leonard bite his lip.

"I have a paper cut," Jim says after moments of silence have passed between them.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, see?"

Leonard turns but doesn't look at Jim's offered hand. Instead, he focuses on Jim's face.

This isn't how it works.

"No. No, I don't," Leonard says and closes his eyes softly. He listens to Jim gasp and then pause before getting up and leaving, the privacy curtain screeching on his way out.

Leonard hopes Jim understands because the good doctor certainly doesn't.

<3<3<3

To: McCoy, Leonard; Lieutenant Commander

From: Starfleet Command

Subject: Assignment

Doctor McCoy, you are to report to the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ under Captain James T. Kirk on this coming Friday at 0900 hours. Due to your actions in regards to the _Narada_ and resulting incidents, Starfleet Command has promoted you to Chief Medical Officer.

Further instructions will be communicated to you in the coming days.

Admiral MacDonald

Starfleet Command

<3<3<3

Despite his command, Leonard feels like he's drifting. There are at least fifty PADDs on his desk, Nurse Chapel seems to have a better grasp of the sickbay than he does and he doesn't sleep more than a few hours before he awakens, vivid dreams of falling plaguing his mind. But there's time. At least that's what he tells himself.

There isn't any balance left in his bones.

He watches Jim when he can. Leonard finds himself on the bridge more often than necessary. No one asks him what he's doing there and he doesn't usually give any indication as to his motivation of being there. But his feet take him there when sickbay is quiet or when sleep eludes him. It's the only interaction they have together and the silent communication on the bridge doesn't feel safe or coherent. Surprisingly, the steady gaze of Jim's clear blue eyes does seem to be enough to let Leonard breath deeper. Leonard doesn't know what this does for Jim or for Captain James T. Kirk but he keeps coming back, in what Leonard supposes, is a desperate plea for the balance between them and the rest of their life to be restored. Leonard is sure he knows what they need but his mouth feels full of cotton candy, the brittleness sweet and sickening on his tongue.

The first day Jim calls Leonard by his nickname and not by his title, the bridge sags and CMO McCoy does the sickbay's scheduling for the first time in the month that they have been on board the flagship. He goes to bed that night and dreams of sidewalks, the cracks erased in a seamless line.

<3<3<3

Jim joins Leonard at lunch four days later. They fall into a pattern that feels familiar, but unreal. Leonard is sure he is missing something, but he's too focused on taking control of his sickbay that he doesn't dwell. He lectures Jim on eating salad instead of a burger, and Jim looks at him wide-eyed until they both look away, the space between them expanding and contracting until Jim wheezes out a laugh.

Leonard doesn't dream at all that night.

The next day, something changes. Leonard gets out of bed before his shift and finds himself walking to the bridge with purpose, not wandering but seeking with a determination that he doesn't remember losing but knows is gone. His hands feel capable. His feet feel worn. His head feels clear, as if the fog has suddenly rolled back, leaving dew to greet the dawn of a new day.

He doesn't slip onto the bridge. He walks in, nodding to Nyota and smiling. She pauses before she smiles back and the sight physically brightens the bridge. Spock inclines his head towards Leonard but doesn't speak, which is customary to their daily routine. Leonard approaches him.

"Does the Captain have a free evening, Mr. Spock?" Leonard asks in a low tone, even though he is fully aware that everyone can hear him. Spock arches an eyebrow but otherwise conceals his surprise.

"He has a conference call with Starfleet Command at 1800 hours. Beyond that, he is not occupied with explicitly defined duties."

Leonard nods, watching as Jim swivels his chair to say something to Chekov, effectively moving the Captain out of his peripheral and into the full scale of his vision. Leonard looks at Spock and nods again, his eyes sliding over to meet Jim's steady gaze.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock."

Leonard turns on his heel and walks out.

<3<3<3

CMO McCoy puts down his stylus at 2100. Dr. M'Benga nods to him on the way out and a few Ensigns scramble out of his way. He had treated them two days before and given them a full tongue lashing for being careless in the Engineering Jefferies tubes. He thinks briefly about going to Jim's quarters, but reminds himself that that isn't how things worked anymore. It wasn't how it was going to work from now on.

The door to his quarters slides open per usual, but the lights are not off. They are dimmed low overhead and he carefully makes his way to the bedroom, quietly shedding his clothing until his bare feet curl into the carpet as he pads towards his bed. A tuft of dirty blond hair is peaking out of what is most certainly the center of the mattress, comforter draping across the lean lines of his body, which is spread out and taking up much more space than necessary.

It feels like laughter that bubbles up inside his chest, but it's just a smile that takes over his face. Leonard slips in beside him, moving Jim's body into a more suitable position for sharing a bed. His hands trace over more flesh than needed to rearrange Jim's limbs but he doesn't seem to mind. Jim makes tiny sounds, curling towards the older man's body and clinging to him in comfortable silence.

"Computer, lights off," Bones whispers. His breath ruffles Jim's hair and in return, Jim shifts until their hands are pressed together.

"Bones, missed you," Jim mumbles sleepily and burrows into Bones' side.

"Missed you too," Bones replies into the darkness of the room.


End file.
